His Angel
by Hyper4Hetalia
Summary: In a desperate suicide attempt, a 13-year-old Matthew Williams throws himself from a tall window and is rescued by an angel with red eyes and silver hair. Eight years later Matthew finds his angel wounded in Central Park, but is he actually an angel, or something much more mysterious? AU. windspirit!Gilbert. Rating may change.
1. Chapter 1

"_I can't.. I can't take it anymore." The young boy's shoulders shook with the force of his sobs, his words coming out broken through clenched teeth. He dropped the knife, droplets of crimson scattering across the floor. Rivulets of red rolled down his wrists and fingertips, shaken onto the carpeting by the force of his trembling hands._

_Matthew William's had never liked his life. He had a twin brother, nice parents, a beautiful mansion-like home, a trust fund that most people would kill for… but he wasn't happy. For example, since the day of his birth, his brother Alfred had been everyone's favorite. He was attractive and talented, tall and muscular and fun to be around. All of the girls in school had a crush on him, all the boys in school wanted to be his best friend. He was the captain of the basketball team, and the quarter back on the football team. Alfred wasn't the brightest- Matthew had gotten the brains out of the two –but no one made a big deal about that tiny flaw. To everyone, Alfred was perfect._

_Having such a 'perfect' brother was probably the reason he didn't get notice. Barely anyone in school new Matthew's name, and when they spoke to him, it was almost always because they had somehow mistaken him for his brother. The Cuban boy next door knew who he was, but that wasn't exactly a good thing, seeing as though he took the chance to use Matthew as his personal punching bag nearly every time he saw him._

_Matthew had stuck it out for thirteen long years, waiting for something, _anything_, that would make life worth living, but he had never found it. He didn't want to live anymore, not when no one noticed him and nothing made him feel happy, loved. Besides, it wasn't like anyone would miss him. It would probably take them a few weeks to even realize he was gone…._

_Matthew rose slowly to his feet, his hands shaking as he strode to his window and lifted the glass. A crisp breeze flew in, stirring his wavy blonde locks, pushing them away from his vibrant lavender eyes. He took a deep breath, looking over the edge of the window, staring five stories down at the yard and perfectly mowed lawn below. He hesitated for a moment, then jumped._

_The entire fall seemed to go in slow motion. Matthew was falling, the ground rising up beneath him. He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for impact…_

_It didn't come. Instead, something firm and cool was wrapping around his chest; a heavy, thrumming sound filling his ears._

_Matthew's eyes snapped open and he tensed, staring in shock at the grass that still remained twelve or so feet below him. He was hanging, suspended in the air…. He turned his head quickly, his eyes widening in shock at what he saw._

_An angel. It had to be an angel. Someone was holding him, keeping him from falling the few final feet to his death. Someone with white hair and skin, captivating ruby eyes, the most beautiful face Matthew had ever laid eyes on… and _wings._ An enormous pair of wings, the entire span at least twenty or so feat, softer and whiter than a blanket of freshly fallen snow. They struck at the air, their movements gradually slowing as they were lowered to the ground._

_Matthew's feet lightly touched the grass, but he barely noticed; all he could do was stare up at his savior, this angel, in shock. He tried to move, tried to speak, but he couldn't. What in the world was happening?_

_The angel just smiled, reaching out and gently ruffling Matthew's soft blonde hair. "Hey kid, nothing can be that bad." He said in the strangest, most wonderful voice Matthew had ever heard._

_Then, without giving him a chance to respond, then angel spread his wings and was gone in the blink of an eye._

_._

Matthew's eyelids slowly fluttered open, his eyelashes brushing the rough canvas he had fallen asleep against. He yawned, rubbing his eyelids with the back of his hand, the sleeve of his favorite red hoodie sliding back to reveal the old scars on his wrist.

"What time is it?" He mumbled aloud to himself, a habit he had formed out of loneliness. He glanced toward the window he had left open the night before, which was now letting in a chilly autumn breeze. _Just like that day. _It had been mid-autumn eight years ago when the angel had saved him from killing himself, and every night autumn night since then, Matthew dreamed of him, his angel.

The young Canadian glanced down at his sketchbook, which he had just minutes ago been using as a pillow. He had fallen asleep drawing his angel, his handsome face, messy platinum hair and piercing crimson eyes scrawled out on the paper as perfectly and clearly as Matthew had seen that day.

His sketchbook was filled with pictures of his angel, though he had never showed anyone or even told them of that day. He knew he was a little obsessed, and people probably wouldn't believe him if he told him anyway. But Matthew owed his angel everything. After he had been saved, Matthew frantically began drawing his angel, wanting to preserve his beautiful image before it faded from his memory. It turned out he was pretty good at drawing, and art became something people noticed him for, his parents praised him for; most of all it was something that Alfred failed at… _miserably._

Matthew was now an art student at Parsons School of Design in New York City. He lived in a house with some of his friends from his school and another college closely neighboring their own, which unfortunately his brother attended. But he really couldn't complain; he had friends now, and he was constantly praised by his teachers and peers for his talents. His life was almost perfect, but there was one thing missing.

His angel. Matthew knew he could never be happy without him; he _loved_ his angel. But he knew that his chances of seeing him ever again were zero to impossible. That one day he had seen him was when Matthew was still living in Canada, for one thing. And he doubted that angels showed themselves to humans often, seeing as though there were very few legitimate sightings.

_I'll never see him again,_ Matthew thought sadly to himself, slowly running a fingertip along the smooth curve of the angel's jaw in the sketch. He closed his eyes and sighed softly, stealing himself for a moment before he stood, stretching his limbs that were sore from having slept in the same uncomfortable position all night. Judging by the blue-ish gray light filtering in through the window, it was still very early in the morning, Matthew's favorite time for going for a walk.

He pulled off his sweatpants, quickly replacing them with a comfortable pair of blue jeans and some sneakers. He wound a scarf around his neck and pulled his hood up over his head. It was extremely cold for autumn- it wasn't even Halloween yet –and all the news stations were calling for chances of snow. Still, Matthew was Canadian; he didn't get cold easily.

The spectacled, violet-eyed blonde left his room, making his way down the long, old staircase to the ground level. Their house was the largest on the block (to accommodate the number of people they had inside), and they had got it surprisingly cheap. Arthur told them all that it was because the house was haunted, but that was mostly just to scare Alfred; Matthew didn't mind, though- he thought that having a resident ghost would be exciting.

He glanced toward the living room as he passed, letting out a soft groan. Alfred, Arthur, Francis, Ivan and Mathias were all sprawled out on the floor, surrounded by empty bottles of vodka, wine and numerous cans of beer. Francis's face had been drawn on in what looked like permanent marker, and Alfred had an Arthur-sized hand print on his face. Kiku and Heracles were curled up on the couch in each other's arms, a fleece blanket pulled over them.

"Matthew, going somewhere, aru?"

The Canadian spun around to see Yao standing under the archway of the kitchen, a mug of his specialty Chinese tea in hand. He wore a red silk robe, his long dark brown hair spilling over his shoulders and down his back. "Morning, Yao." Matthew greeted him. "I was just going for a walk, actually."

Another figure materialized beside Yao, unnerving silvery-blue eyes focusing on the blonde. "Can you make us some of your pancakes first?" Lukas asked. "I want to eat something decent before Arthur wakes up and insists on making us all breakfast."

"Well.." Matthew hesitated. He really wanted to go for a walk, and even though his pancakes _were _amazing, he got tired of making them nearly every morning for the entirety of the household. "Why don't you wake up Francis and ask him to make you something? He _is _in culinary school, after all."

"I don't want to go near him." Lukas made a face. "He's almost as bad as Mathias."

"I'll do it!" Matthew glanced up toward the staircase. Luca (yeah, it sometimes got confusing having a Luca and a Lukas living in the same house), a short boy with six wild curls in his wavy brown hair and a thick Luxembourgish accent, was perched half-way down the staircase, his blue eyes bright with excitement. It was a well-known fact Luca had a particularly bad case of 'l'amour' for the Frenchman, who also happened to be Matthew's cousin.

"There, you see? Luca will wake him and Francis will make you guys breakfast." Matthew said, edging toward the front door and pulling it open. "Have him make an omelet for me for when I get back, okay? I should only be an hour or so."

Yao nodded and handed him a thermos of piping hot Chinese tea. "Take this." He instructed. "It's freezing out there."

Matthew nodded, smiling gratefully. "Thanks." He said, then headed out into the early morning. It was indeed very cold, but Matthew didn't mind; he missed snow and hoped they would have plenty this winter.

He walked quickly toward Central Park, thankful that it was so close. He loved losing himself in the trees, imagining he was back in the forest near his home in Canada. He walked down a faint path worn down only by his countless walks through the park. He wove between thick, frosted trunks, slipping his iPod out of his pocket and sticking the buds in his ears. He turned up the music, humming softly as a shower of red and gold leaves cascaded down around him.

Suddenly, a splash of white caught his vision. He stopped, turning a few degrees to the right, brushing aside some branches and peeking up at a tall tree. He gasped, frozen in place at the sight before him.

Someone was dangling over a thick branch, twigs and leaves embedded in his messy white hair. He was wearing something around his shoulder that looked like a heavy drape of dark gray feathers and some kind of animal pelt around his waist tied off with a rope, and his muscular chest was bear. An enormous pair of pure-white wings protruded from between his shoulder blades and tangled helplessly over the branch, one of them bent at an unnatural, painful-looking angle.

Matthew would recognize him anywhere. It was him. It was his angel.

.

**A/N: Oh my God, I know. I'm crazy for starting **_**another**_** fanfiction when I haven't even finished my others yet. But, I wanted to get this out in time for Canada's birthday! So.. HAPPY TWO DAYS TIL YOUR BIRTHDAY, CANADA!**

**Just a few notes. One, this idea was given to me by my bestest estest friend, Luxio Nyx. Go read her stories, guys. Even though she likes RusCan (*shudders*) she's really awesome. (Hehehe, you know I love ya, hun ;D)**

**Another is that the main pairing of this fanfiction will be PruCan (duh), but you'll probably hear hints of other pairings like USUK, FranLux (Luxembourg, or Luca, is my OC), Rochu, Giripan, SwissAus, Dennor, and Sufin. There may be some others mentioned, but they really aren't going to be a big deal.**

**Also, Parsons School of Design in New York City is where Hidekaz Himaruya went to college, apparently. So I thought it would be funny to have some of the characters go there. I've never been to New York City, so I have no idea if its anywhere near Central Park, but for the story's sake, lets just pretend it is.**

**Uhh, yeah, so, this chapter wasn't very exciting, but please tell me what you think! And if you like my writing, please read my other stories ^^ Reviews= faster updates!**


	2. Chapter 2

Matthew let out a gasp, running over to the tree, his heart pounding in his ears. He couldn't believe it, his angel was here! He grabbed a low branch, hoisting himself up until he was level with the angel. Looking closer, he saw that his eyes were shut and his lips were trembling, and there was a thick layer of ice coating his wings. Even Matthew, who was used to the freezing winters of Canada, was chilled to the bone; he couldn't imagine how cold his angle- whom was wearing very little clothing –would be!

"E-Excuse me.." He began hesitantly, biting his lips and momentarily contemplating how stupid he was being. This was an_ angel_, for maple's sake! He should probably be kneeling and singing the Halleluiah Chorus right about now. He didn't want to show disrespect, but he doubted letting the angel dangle there freezing while he sang random hymns would be very polite either.

The angel didn't stir at the sound of his voice, and Matthew tried again, leaning closer this time. "M-Mister angel sir?" he stammered, his shaking breath visible in a cloud of white each time he spoke. He wondered if it was alright to touch him, just to try to wake him up. After a moment's hesitation he reached out, brushing his fingertips over the man's skin; his initial instinct was to retract his hand when he realized that the angel was as cold as ice, so much so that he nearly freezer-burnt his fingertips, but he refrained when- at the slightest touch –the angel's eyelids began to flutter.

They opened slowly, revealing irises with a stunning ruby-color and intensity to them that Matthew had never been able to capture on paper. The angel stared groggily at him for a moment, then gasped and bolted upright, hitting his head on a branch above him and nearly falling from his perch. "Careful!" Matthew grabbed his arm, steadying the angel.

The angel winced and rubbed his head where it had been hit, turning his eyes back to the Canadian. "You startled me." He said sheepishly, in a strange, coarse accent that for the life of him Matthew couldn't place. He knew he had heard it before, though- after hearing this voice only once, briefly, several years ago he had still never forgotten it; this really was him... this was his angel!

"I-I'm sorry!" Was all Matthew could think to say. He had dreamed of this moment, of reuniting with his angel, nearly every night after first meeting him. Matthew had planned beautifully worded confessions of his undying love and long, romantic kisses… he hadn't planned stammering awkward apologies and the bizarre feeling like he was somehow forgetting how to talk. The angel's presence had even more of an effect on him then it had last time, like he was being completely overwhelmed and swallowed up by it. "I-Its just that I saw you d-dangling there, a-and you looked so cold and hurt, and I wanted to make sure you were alive and I tried talking to you but you didn't wake up so I-"

The angel silenced him by pressing a freezing cold fingertip to his lips. "Mein Gott, you ramble almost as much as Feli." He chuckled. "Calm down, kid. What's your name?"

A warm blush flooded his cheeks when the angel touched his lips, his heart jumping excitedly in his chest. "M-Matthew," he said almost breathlessly. "Wh-what's yours?"

"Gilbert, at your service!" he said grandly, even though his teeth were chattering. "Spirit of the East Wind!"

Matthew's eyebrows shot up. "Spirit?" he repeated. "I-I thought you were an angel."

Gilbert stared at him for a moment, then burst into loud, hissing laughter. "Me?" he repeated incredulously. "An _angel_? Now that's a new one!"

The Canadian bit his lip, feeling a little hurt. Was he making fun of him? "Is that really such a hard thing to believe?" he asked quietly, feeling betrayed. Well, this _really_ wasn't going the way he planned. "You saved me, after all."

Gilbert stopped laughing, looking at him strangely. "Saved you?" he repeated. "What are you…" he trailed off, his eyes steadily widening in bewilderment. "It's you!" he gasped, leaning forward and taking Matthew's face in his hands, looking both excited and stunned. "My Birdie!"

"Your.. what?" Matthew asked, eyebrows furrowed in confusion.

"My Birdie!" Gilbert repeated, looking positively enthralled. "The one who tried to jump out the window! I didn't recognize you at first, I forgot how fast you humans age!"

"So.. you remember me?" Matthew asked quietly, relief and excitement flooding him slowly.

"Of course I do! Man, Mother got so mad at me for showing myself to a human! But you were just so freaking adorable, and you looked just like a cute little bird falling through the air like that. I couldn't just watch you die, I had to save you!"

Matthew's heart soared at the compliment. "Um, whose mother?" he asked curiously; he didn't think spirits could have parents.

"Oh, she's not actually my mother." Gilbert laughed, jumping down from the branch. "Mother Earth, also known as Elizaveta. Now that is one crazy bitch. She's always hitting me with her frying pan whenever I do something to piss her off… which is often because she's so much fun to screw with. Not literally screw with, of course. I'm not into chicks, unless it's the cute little fluffy kind that hatch from eggs."

Matthew let out a little laugh. "First spirits with wings and now Mother Nature? I think I might still be dreaming." He gasped suddenly and leapt down from his perch as well. "Maple, I almost forgot! You're cold, aren't you? Your wings are frozen and your lips are blue!" He glanced down at the thermos of piping hot tea Yao had given him, which until now had gone almost completely forgotten. "Here, take this." He said, pushing it into Gilbert's pale hands. "Drink it slowly because it's really hot, but it'll warm you up."

Gilbert stared down at the container blankly, experimentally tapping a finger against the side. "This is solid." He said obviously. "How am I supposed to drink it?"

Matthew gave an amused look and giggled. "Guess they don't have thermoses in the sky, huh?" he reached over and unscrewed the cap, doing so slowly so that Gilbert could see how it was done. "See? The tea is inside, that's what you drink."

"Amazing." Gilbert's eyes widened in wonder as he stared into the pale brown contents of the container. "This doesn't look like any water I've ever had. How did you get it out of the clouds?"

"Clouds?" Matthew repeated, giggling again. "No, this is tea made from water from the ground and special leaves. My friend Yao made it, try it. Its very good."

Gilbert watched him for a long moment, then flicked his gaze back toward the thermos, lifting it to his lips and taking an experimental sniff. Apparently deeming that it was safe to drink, he took a small, careful sip. He seemed to hold it in his mouth for a moment as though testing the flavor, then finally swallowed. "That's really good." He decided with a dazzling, sharp-toothed smile. "I didn't know you could drink anything but water. The only other time I've ever come down from the sky was to save you that one day, so I guess I don't know much about things down here."

Matthew tilted his head to the side curiously. "Then how do you drink?" he asked. "Does it have anything to do with the clouds you mentioned?"

Gilbert nodded, taking another sip of the tea. "Whenever I get thirsty, all I have to do is fly into a cloud. They're made of water, but since I'm the Bringer of Winter, it's usually frozen."

"The Bringer of Winter?" Matthew repeated.

The white-haired spirit nodded again. "There's four winds." He explained. "Me, the East Wind, I bring Winter wherever I fly. My brother, Ludwig, the West Wind brings Autumn. There's another set of brothers, Feli, the North Wind, who brings Spring, and Lovino, the South Wind, who brings Summer."

Matthew's eyes widened in understanding. "And you're here, which is why its so cold even for Fall, right?" For a third time Gilbert nodded. "So why are you so ahead of schedule?"

Gilbert hesitated. "I don't really want to talk about it." He said at last. "And besides, right now I have even bigger problems: I'm pretty sure I broke one of my wings."

Matthew glanced at the bent and awkward-looking appendage, pressing his lips into a hard line. "It definitely looks injured. What happened?"

Gilbert looked away as though he were embarrassed, crossing his arms over his bare, noticeably muscular chest. "I usually fly above the clouds where it warmer," he explained sheepishly, a pale blush dusting his cheeks. "But every once in a while I get curious and like to see where I'm flying. I dipped down a little and accidentally flew right through a cloud. Water got all over me and turned my wings into icicles. It got so hard to fly that I kinda.. crash-landed into this tree. I hit my wing against one of the branches pretty hard on the way down."

Matthew smiled gently. "Well, you'll definitely need to get that wing fixed up if you want to fly again. Luckily, I know someone who might be able to help."

Gilbert's eyes lit up with excitement. "Really? That's awesome!"

"Mhm." Matthew giggled, pulling off his sweatshirt. "But first we'll need to hide your wings. We don't want to attract too much attention, so put this on." He tossed the hoodie to Gilbert, telling himself to endure how cold he was now that he was in nothing but a t-shirt and jeans.

The snowy-haired spirit looked down at the article of clothing blankly and Matthew gave a small sigh. Did Gilbert not even know how to dress himself? "Here, like this." The Canadian stepped close to him, pulling the warm red material over his head and fitting them over Gilbert's wings as the albino gingerly flattened them against his back. The hoodie (which was big on Matthew) fit him snugly due to the extra bulk from his muscles and wings, but nothing at least looked too out of the ordinary.

"Alright, let go." Matthew said, extending a hand to Gilbert. "Back to my place."

.

It turned out that keeping people from noticing Gilbert shouldn't have been what Matthew needed to worry about; it was keeping Gilbert from noticing _everything. _He hadn't been kidding when he said he knew nothing about the real world. He had almost run out in the middle of traffic on nearly twenty different occasions, and apparently he found the way traffic lights changed color to be the most wondrous things in the universe. He also discovered dogs when a woman walked by with several of them on leashes and- upon taking immediate liking to them –was practically beaten to death with said woman's purse after trying to steal one of them. He shouted questions excitedly in Matthew's ear at practically everything they passed, and even though Gilbert's happy excitement was absolutely adorable and admittedly contagious, he got tired of explaining everyday things and eventually stopped responding with anything but "I'll tell you later".

Matthew could tell that everyone was awake by the time they got home when the noise from inside could be heard even from three yards away from the front porch. "Be quiet when we're going inside, alright?" he told Gilbert, whom was studying the house with curious scarlet eyes. "I'm going to try to sneak you in.. and if anyone sees us, just go along with whatever I say." He had already decided that he shouldn't tell the others about what Gilbert really was; the only people who would probably believe him would be Arthur, Lukas and maybe Kiku, and if anyone else probably saw Gilbert's wings they would probably freak out and demand the media or animal control be called… Feliks would probably try to make Gilbert's pretty white feathers into a new boa.

Gilbert nodded his understanding and Matthew opened the front door, letting in a burst of much-appreciated warm air. The Canadian glanced into the living room, saw that it was devoid of any persons, and motioned for Gilbert to follow him quickly up the staircase. Most of the sound was isolated to the kitchen, so Matthew predicted everyone was probably awake and eating breakfast by that point.

Matthew's room was on the second floor at the very end of a long corridor. It was small but cozy, with a Canadian flag and a few posters of his favorite hockey teams tacked to the wall. His bed was pushing against the wall in the corner, covered with a thick red quilt and a stuffed polar bear he had had for as long as he could remember perched on his pillows. There was a desk by the window, sketchbooks and loose papers scattered around and on top of it, pencils and paintbrushes littering the floor. There was an easel set up beside it, a canvas with Matthew's newest painting of Gilbert facing them.

The painting caught Gilbert's attention immediately and he went straight to it, an impossibly wide grin on his face. "This is me!" he said brightly, examining it closely. In the picture he was kneeling in a forest of maple trees, his hands extended to cup a tiny yellow bird in the grass near his knees. It was a work of art, but looking at the real thing and an imitation side by side, Matthew knew he would never be able to completely capture something so perfect on paper or canvas.

"Yeah." Matthew blushed. He hadn't thought about the millions of pictures of Gilbert that littered his room… what if he thought it was creepy? "Do you, um, like it?"

"I love it!" the albino beamed, apparently not finding anything strange about it. He quickly lost interest, though (Honestly, Matthew had seen longer attention spans on four-year-olds) and moved on to the next thing that caught his eye. "What is this?" he asked, plopping down on Matthew's bed and picking up the stuffed white bear.

"Kumajiro." Matthew explained with a tiny smile. "At least, I think that's what I named him; I can honestly never remember. Now, you wait here, alright? I'm going to go get my friend to help fix your wing. And… try not to mess anything up in here, alright?"

"Okay!" Gilbert beamed, though he really didn't seem to be paying attention. He was busy lifting Kumajiro's stuffed paws and making him dance, laughing happily and squishing the bear to his chest.

Matthew backed slowly out of the room before things got any cuter and he wanted to stay. When he closed the door a dreadful feeling overcame him, and suddenly the thought of being away from Gilbert- only in they were only separated by a floor –felt unbearable to him. What if when he came back upstairs, Gilbert would be gone? What if this was actually nothing more than an extremely vivid dream and when he woke up he would have to back to living without him? He knew it was silly; he knew this was real and that his feelings for Gilbert were too strong for someone he barely knew, but he didn't care. He would just have to go downstairs, do what he needed to do, come back upstairs and prove to his thoughts that they were dumb and irrational, that an impossibly handsome wind spirit would still be sitting on his bed playing with a stuffed polar bear when he came back.

Matthew practically raced down the stairs and into the kitchen. For once he was thankful for his uncanny ability to go completely unnoticed; he didn't want to deal with anyone until he made sure Gilbert got the help he needed for his wing. He crept toward the kitchen table, gently nudging the shoulder of the Greek whom had fallen asleep on his plate of French toast.

"Huh? Kiku?" Heracles mumbled hopefully, blinking his emerald eyes blearily to clear them of sleep.

"Uh, no, not quite. Its Matthew." The Canadian said, a little impatiently. "Heracles, I need a favor. Would you mind coming with me?"

Heracles stared at him for much too long and then nodded, getting up with the speed of a turtle. "Okay." He said, yawning and running a hand through his wavy, chocolate-brown hair.

"Thank you, please hurry." Matthew said, leading the Greek out of the kitchen and toward the stairs. Heracles took his time following him, seeming even slower than usual that day. And Matthew liked Heracles, don't get him wrong, but he was absolutely the slowest person in the universe and all Matthew wanted to do just then was get back to his room and make sure Gilbert was still there.

Eventually they made it to the door and Matthew nearly flung it open in his earnest, letting out a long sigh of relief when he spotted Gilbert sprawled across the floor on his stomach, doodling on a piece of paper with one of the pencils that made the carpeting their home. From what Matthew could tell, the wind spirit had drawn to stick figures that vaguely resembled the two of them holding hands, which the Canadian supposed was pretty impressive for someone who had probably never used paper before, but what he definitely thought was down-right adorable. He'd have to remember to frame it later.

Gilbert looked up and beamed. "Birdie! Your back!" he stood up and peered around the Canadian's shoulder curiously, looking a little weary. "Who is that?" he motioned to Heracles, who was leaning against the doorframe looking like he was about ready to fall asleep again.

"He's a friend of mine. I think he might be able to fix your wing." Matthew said, pulling Heracles inside and closing the door. "Now, Heracles, before this goes any further, I'd like you to know that this is all a dream."

The Greek didn't seem particularly surprised by this, simply nodded. "Ah, okay then." He mused, starting to undo the front of his pants. "I would have preferred Kiku, but I guess you two will do."

Matthew's eyes widened in alarm. "Not _that _kind of dream!" he said quickly, stopping the Greek's hand and holding up a roll of bandages (one could never have to many bandages on hand when Arthur and Francis were living under the same roof). "I need you to fix Gilbert's wing!" He strode over to the albino, carefully helping him remove the hoodie and motioning to the wing that was still bent at an awkward angle. "Can you help him?"

Heracles stared thoughtfully at it, blinking slowly. "Sure I can." He said after a moment, taking the bandages from Matthew and making Gilbert sit on the bed. "Its going to hurt at first though because I'll have to reset the bones."

Matthew sat beside Gilbert, instinctively taking his hand and giving it a comforting squeeze. "Don't worry, Heracles used to go to Veterinarian school." He explained, not caring that Gilbert probably didn't have a single clue as to what that was. Heracles had been in training to be a vet for about half a year, until his teachers tried to make him do an autopsy on a dead cat and he quit that very day. He went to art school with Matthew now and was an amazing sculptor- he could do things with marble that the Canadian had never even thought possible. "He'll fix your wing so don't worry."

Matthew had to look away as Heracles reset the broken bones (though he still heard the painful-sounding cracks and pops), but Gilbert seemed to handle it well, barely even flinching. Something gave Matthew the impression that it really did hurt and Gilbert was just trying to show off by looking touch, judging by the way he was squeezing the crap out of Matthew's hand.

Heracles wrapped the wing tightly in bandages and secured it to Gilbert's back before sitting back and yawning. "The break was pretty serious, from what I could tell." He said, rubbing his eyes tiredly. "He should keep the bandages on for at least a month and a half, but even then it could be three months until he'll be able to fly again. He shouldn't strain it too much once its out of the bandages, just stretch it a little bit each day."

"Thanks Heracles." Matthew smiled, though he felt a little sad. Three months didn't feel very long at all when Gilbert was concerned… after his wing was healed, would he have to leave?

Heracles nodded and left the room, mumbling something about getting some more sleep. Matthew turned to Gilbert, deciding to push all dismal thoughts to the back of his brain for now. "Well, I guess we should let everyone know you're here." He decided. "Don't forget to go along with whatever I say, okay?" He had thought of a decent enough excuse for why Gilbert would be staying with them, he just hoped everyone would buy it.

.

**A/N: So tired... this is eleven pages on my word document -_- I want to sleep.. its 3am.**

Thank you for everyone who favorite/reviewed this story, and please continue to do so.

**Reviews=faster updates******

This chapter is dedicated to Faith, because she kept asking me what was going to happen next XD


	3. Chapter 3

"You should probably change first." Matthew decided, taking in the strange combinations of feathers and animal pelts Gilbert wore. The albino was several inches taller than him and more muscular, telling Matthew upfront that none of his own clothes would fit him. "Some of Alfred's clothes will probably do. I doubt he'll even know they're missing."

"What's wrong with what I have on now?" Gilbert was back on the floor, sitting cross-legged and rifling through the hundreds of scrapped pictures that littered the carpet. Each time he found a drawing of himself that he liked, he let out a peculiar purring sound and held it close to his chest before tossing it aside in search for another.

Matthew couldn't help but smile as he watched him, his heart glowing with warmth each time Gilbert showed his approval for his art work. All of this was so surreal; only in his wildest dreams would he believe that one day Gilbert would be here with him. It was just too good to be true! "Humans don't dress like that." He explained patiently. "You'll stick out."

Gilbert turned his head toward him, his painfully handsome face looking troubled. "But I'm not a human." He reminded Matthew with a cute little tilt of his head. "Why do I have to pretend to be one?"

"Well… most humans don't believe that spirits or other creatures like you exist." The Canadian admitted, reaching up to fiddle with his glasses, which had begun to slip down the bridge of his nose. "If they realized you did, they might want to take you away."

Gilbert's red eyes grew to nearly twice their usual size and he reached out, grabbing onto Matthew's hand with an earnest expression. "But I don't want to go away! That would be totally unawesome!" He protested quickly. "I want to stay with you, Birdie!"

Matthew's heart soared at the words and he smiled, leaning down the give the albino's forehead a shy kiss. "I know, Gil. I want you to stay too." He pulled him gently to his feet. "That's why we're going to pretend like you're a human."

Gilbert nodded quickly, clutching his hand a little tighter. "Okay." He agreed. "I can do it! I'll be the most awesome human ever!"

Somehow Matthew didn't doubt that; Gilbert was simply perfect in every meaning of the word. "Let's go to my brother's room," he said, starting to tug Gilbert into the hallway. "You can borrow his clothes for today and later you and I can go shopping for some of your own."

"You have a brother?" Gilbert's scarlet eyes lit up. Matthew remembered him mentioning earlier that he also had a brother, the West Wind. "Just like me!"

"Lots of people have brothers and sisters, Gil." The blonde giggled, nudging open the door to Alfred's room. It was shockingly clean inside; back home, Alfred's room was always a pig's sty, but here Arthur cleaned up after him almost obsessively. There was a huge American flag tacked to the wall (Gilbert seemed delighted by all the pretty stars and stripes), surrounded by a hundred posters of varying sizes and themes.

Matthew crossed to the closet, pulling it open and shifting through numerous jersies and hoodies, relieved to see that everything looked about Gilbert's size. Finally he found a storm-gray hoodie at the back of the closet that Matthew could have sworn he had never seen Alfred even touch before, handing it over to Gilbert along with a generic pair of blue jeans that felt virtually unworn. "These should fit you." He decided, folding the closet doors closed and leading the albino back to his room to change.

Then a thought occurred to him. "Do you, um, know how to dress yourself?" He asked hesitantly once the door had been shut behind them and they were once again alone in his room.

Gilbert studied the clothing in his hands thoughtfully. "I can figure it out," he said, seeming eager to impress Matthew by doing things on his own.

And then he dropped his pants.

Matthew shrieked (quietly) and immediately clasped his hands over his eyes, resisting the urge to peek through the cracks of his fingers. No, Matthew Williams was no pervert; no no no no no. He was too shy to even attempt picturing Gilbert naked... but from what he had seen, the wind spirit was amazingly well-endowed... Dear God he was a perverted. He was worse than Francis.

… Scratch that. No one was worse than Francis.

"Mattie?" He heard Gilbert say in a questioning tone.

The Canadian turned away quickly so that he wouldn't be tempted to look. He really wasn't surprised that the wind spirit had no qualms about being naked in front of him; it was probably just a human thing. "I, u-um.." He swallowed nervously around the lump that had risen in his throat, trying to form some sort of intelligible sentence, but all he could think about was Gilbert's... _thing._ Since when did they even come in that size!?

"Birrrdiiie," the silverette prompted, his tone now pouting.

"Um... boxers!" Matthew squeaked, daring to peel his hands away from his face and open his eyes. Not daring to look at Gilbert, he made a mad dash for his dresser, wrenching the top drawer open. He produced a pair of never-before-worn boxers from the very back corner of the drawer and tossed them in Gilbert's direction without a glance. "H-Here, but these on before the pants." He said, thankful his voice had finally stopped shaking. "They're clean." Indeed Matthew had never even touched the things; he had always been more of a briefs kind of a guy, but after Feliks had introduced him to the wonder that is boy shorts, he had recently been wearing those instead. So what if some of them had lace trimming and flowery patterns and hugged his butt snugly? They were comfy, okay?

"Um, okay.." There was an inquisitive note in Gilbert's voice but he didn't ask him any further questions. The rustling of different types of fabric for the next several minutes told Matthew that he was obeying. "Okay. I'm done."

Matthew turned around to face the wind spirit, letting out a breath of relief when he saw that Gilbert had managed to get himself completely and properly dressed. "Very good, Gil." He praised, walking around him in an appraising circle to make sure no feathers were poking out from underneath the hoodie.

Once he was satisfied that nothing suspicious was poking out, he nodded his approval, reaching for the door. "Time to go downstairs and meet the others, then." He decided. "Remember, they can't know who you really are. Just go along with what I say if they ask you any questions."

Gilbert nodded enthusiastically. "Don't worry, Birdie! I won't let you down!" He promised.

Matthew blushed and resisted the urge to hug him, settling for reaching out and taking Gilbert's hand instead. He led him out the door and down the steps, through the living room and into the kitchen where all the noise was coming from.

Being a Saturday, no one had any classes, leaving which meant all sixteen of the other residents Matthew shared the huge house with were crowded into the kitchen for breakfast. One can imagine with so many people crammed into once space (not to mention hungry, college-age boys), things usually got quite loud and out of hand. Matthew had just stepped under the archway when a burnt scone went flying overhead, missing his sensitive curl by inches.

"Bloody Frenchman! If you insult my cooking one more time I swear I'll strangle you in your sleep!" A shaggy-haired, bushy-browed Brit screamed from the far side of the room, held up and restrained by the strong arms of Matthew's twin brother, Alfred.

"Honhonhon~ how kinky! I did not know you were into that sort of thing, cher~" Francis snickered from where stood by the stove flipping omelets, completely oblivious to the Luxembourgian who lurked adoringly by his side.

"Prease do not shout, Arthur-san," Kiku- the tiny Japanese exchange student who was in several of Matthew's art classes -spoke up, petting the hair of the slumbering Greek next to him. "You might wake Heracres-san."

"Yeeeeeeeeaaah, keep it down, bushy-brows." Complained a spikey-haired Dane named Mathias who sat at the kitchen table, clutching a cold bottle of beer to the side of his head. His other arm was locked tightly around Lukas's (the Norwegian student Matthew had spoken to earlier that morning) waist, keeping him in his lap despite his thrashing and elbow-blows to his gut. "I've got a bitch of a hangover."

"Oh do you now?" Lukas smirked, grabbing Matthias by his spikey golden locks and screaming what Matthew could only assume was some pretty vulgar Norwegian curses right in the unfortunate Dane's ear.

Mathias yelped and fell backwards off his chair, taking Lukas along with him. The Norwegian proceeded to strangle his fellow Scandinavian on the floor, which quickly turned into some strange sort of angry make-out session.

"You two are acting like children." A snooty Austrian named Roderich sneered, scooting his chair away from the couple on the floor, looking at them like they were something nasty he had just scraped off the bottom of his shoe. "If you're going to partake in such activities, please do so privately, not where we're all trying to enjoy our breakfast."

"I do not mind," Ivan chimed in cheerfully, watching the two Scandinavian's tussle with an unsettling gleam in his lavender eyes. "But it would be much more fun if you did that with me~ In fact, everyone should become one with Ivan, da?"

"Fer th' last t'me, Iv'n, no'ne wants teh "bec'me one" with yeh." The towering Swede glowered from across the table at the Russian with obvious dislike, wrapping one arm possessively around a scared-looking Finnish boy named Tino.

"I would not say 'no one', Berwald~" Ivan giggled, unswayed by the Swede's glare. "In fact, last night Yao and I-"

"Ivan!" The long-haired Chinese boy launched himself across the room and into the Russian's lap, clapping a hand over his mouth, his cheeks burning with color. "Shut UP, aru!"

"U-Um.. guys..." Matthew spoke up timidly, embarrassed at the first impression his friends were making on Gilbert. A quick glance over his shoulder told him that Gilbert seemed amused by what he had seen so far, his scarlet eye s glimmering with excitement.

"Hey, who is he?" Vash's voice called over the commotion, gesturing at the wind spirit with his fork.

Everyone fell silent, turning their heads in unison to stare at the two in the doorway... well, everyone except Heracles, who continued to snore softly on the tablecloth.

"Mattie!" Alfred released the Brit (who by then had stopped struggling and simply hung in his arms like a deadweight) and pushed his way over to his brother. "Whose your friend, bro?"

"Uh, everyone, this is Gilbert. He's an exchange student. The Dean asked me to let him stay here for a while." Matthew lied by the skin of his teeth.

"An exchange student? Really?" Arthur spoke up interestedly, walking over to stand next to Alfred. "Where are you from Gilbert?"

Shit. Matthew hadn't thought about that. Everyone in the room came from a different country, it was just the way things had worked out; between all sixteen of them, they covered a wide range of languages. He'd need to come up with some place pretty obscure so they no one would be able to see through their lie. "He... uh... um.." He started to stammer, but was quickly interrupted by the albino next to him.

"I'm from Prussia!" Gilbert said enthusiastically. "Prussia is the best country ever!"

Crap! Gilbert must have really outdated knowledge if he thought Prussia was still a country. "He was kidding!" The Canadian chimed in quickly. "Germany. He's from Germany, the part that used to be Prussia."

"I see," Roderich stood up, peering doubtfully at Gilbert. "Your accent is a little strange. You speak German, then?"

Shit. Matthew had only made it worse. Roderich was Austrian, of course HE spoke German; There was no way Gilbert-

"Ja, natürlich habe ich Deutsch sprechen." Gilbert said obviously, rolling his eyes. "That's kind of a stupid question."

Matthew and Roderich's eyes each grew to the size of saucers. The brunette puffed out his cheeks, his cheeks red with anger. "Well, that was quite rude!" He huffed, sinking back in his seat.

"Don't mind him, Gilbert." Tino's kind voice spoke up, smiling kindly at the wind spirit. "Its really nice to meet you."

"Yeah, like, one problem though." Feliks, Matthew's Polish friend, spoke up. He sat in Toris (his Lithuanian boyfriend's) lap, filing his nails with his new favorite pair of Prada shoes kicked up on the table. "We're like totes out of rooms. Where's he gonna sleep?"

"He's staying in my room." Matthew said quickly. There was no way he could risk letting Gilbert stay with someone else and having them see him wings; not to mention, he wanted the wind spirit all to himself. He was _his_ angel, after all. There was no way he was going to share.

"You sure, Mattie?" Alfred pursed his lips suspiciously, peering at Gilbert over the frames of his glasses. "You don't know this dude. He could be a pervert and try to molest you or somethin'."

"Huh? What does that mean?" Gilbert tilted his head in naïve confusion.

"N-Nothing, Gil." Matthew blushed, giving his brother a frustrated look. "He's not going to do that, Alfred. Gilbert is really nice."

"Hmph. If you say so," Alfred shrugged. "But if I hear any screaming coming from your room in the middle of the night, I'm coming in with my baseball bat." He warned, giving Gilbert a serious look.

"Honhonhon, most of the screaming comes from _your_ room at night, Alfred." Francis reminded the American. "Arthur is quite loud, isn't he?"

"DAMMIT BLOODY FROG, I'M GOING TO KILL YOU!" The Brit screeched, making an attempt to leap at the Frenchman, only to be held back by Alfred again.

Matthew sighed as all hell broke loose again and they were back to where they had started. At least everyone had bought their story, though. "I didn't know you could speak German." He commented, turning to Gilbert and taking his hand, leading him into the privacy of the living room.

"I can speak every human language." Gilbert said simply, as though it wasn't really very impressive.

"Of course you can." Matthew shook his head. Gilbert really was amazing. Every second he spent with him he realized that more and more. That was why he had to keep what Gilbert really was a secret; if people knew how amazing, perfect, incredible, extraordinarily _awesome_ he was, they would definitely try to take him away.

But what happened when Gilbert's wing healed and he could leave on his own? Would he really choose Matthew over his life and duties as the Spirit of the East Wind? Or would he leave and Matthew would be forced to go back to his life of going unnoticed and unwanted, in love with someone he could only see in his own artwork.

He hoped not. Dear God, he hoped not. After knowing him less than three hours he was already more in love with Gilbert than he ever had been. If Gilbert went away, he would take Matthew's heart with him, and there would be nothing left again. Just loneliness...

No. Matthew would do anything to keep that from happening. He wanted Gilbert to stay with him forever.

**A/N:**

**Sorry for leaving this off at a weird spot, but hey, at least I updated. I started this at like 3pm today and its 1:41am and I'm just now finishing. The reason is because while I was in the process of writing this chapter, I got a rejection letter from my #1 college choice and cried for hours. So if this chapter is kinda lame, blame Washington&Jefferson for rejecting me and crushing my heart and soul and dreams and plans for the future.**

**Anyway, I'm really sorry for my practically non-existent update schedule. The next fanfic I update will be _Until The End_, which I'll start as soon as I finish applying to more colleges. Please cross your fingers and say your prayers for me and hope I get into a good school. If anyone knows any good colleges for International Studies in or near Pennsylvania that also have German and/or Norwegian, please let me know XD.**

**Also, real quickly, I got a Tumblr. No idea how to work it yet, but its: hyper4hetalia**

**I don't have like anything on there yet, but I will so you should follow me. I'll probably even post previews for my new chapters on there.**

**Also, here's the list of everyone living in the house with Matthew:**

**Alfred F. Jones (America)**

**Arthur Kirkland (England)**

**Francis Bonnefoy (France)**

**Luca Schaus (Luxembourg)**

**Ivan Braginski (Russia)**

**Yao Wang (China)**

**Kiku Honda (Japan)**

**Heracles Karpusi (Greece)**

**Vash Zwingli (Switzerland)**

**Roderich Edelstein (Austria)**

**Feliks IforgetHisLastNameAndAmTooTi redToGoogleIt (Poland)**

**Toris LaurinitsOrSomethingLikeThat (Lithuania)**

**Tino OhGoodIAmNotPuttingInAllThos eAccentMarks (Finland)**

**Berwald OxinsterniaIThinkCanYouTellI 'mTired (Sweden)**

**Mathias KøhlerOhGawdItsASchoolNightA ndIHaveGymTomorrowEW (Denmark)**

**Lukas BondvikTHEREI'MDONEGOODNIGHT (Norway)**

**And real quick, before I go to bed, I want to thank everyone who has reviewed any of my stories so far. Seriously, after I got that rejection letter I was just going to give up, but reading all of my reviews made me continue. It seriously means so much to me that people seem to enjoy my writing, and it helped me a lot today when I was in a bad place and really down on myself. As thanks, I promise to try to update more frequently. Thank you so, so much to everyone 3**

**OH! And if anyone wants to make a cover for any of my stories, I would seriously love you forever.**

**Okay. NOW I AM GOING TO BED.**

**GUTEN NACHT, LIEBLINGS.**


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